The self
Most of my blogging has held an emphasis on the importance and significance of community without an explanation of the individual and his or her identity. My wife has especially taught me the significance of the journey for a personal identity within the context of the whole world, cultures and subcultures. Who am I? I am a caucasian male, almost 23 years of age; I grew up attending magnet schools emersed in poorer urban environments where I was in the minority of the population, present in the midst of different subcultures. From sixth to eighth grade the predominant culture in school was a Mexican hispanic culture, where most students were bilingual, poorer, with less motivation to do well in school. Similarly, my high school experience was much the same but I was emersed in an environment that was predominantly black. The students were poorer and were not given encouragement to do well in school by family and friends and peers. Fitting within the subculture was what was crucial for survival among my friends and so school appeared to be a 'white' thing and an intrusion on their identity as black Americans who experienced and probably still experience the segregation and discrimination of white America.
Racism exists; segregation exists; and discrimination exists.
Discrimination based on the color of the skin is, I feel, still my responsibility despite the fact that it was my great, great grandparents that were the discriminating ones. Healing hundreds of years of discrimination does not just end in a few decades with the passage of laws prohibiting segregation. Not to pass the buck, I am discriminating against others -- perhaps outwardly I do not show it, but inwardly I am uncomfortable around those that are different, even if that difference is because of an accent, skin color, or some other feature characteristic of a particular subculture. But I purposefully expose and immerse myself into environments that are multi-cultural, that are different, not because I enjoy awkwardness, but because I strive to be understanding of others, to escape my enculturated fear of difference.
Many of my friends are different -- they are black and hispanic, poor and rich, Jewish and Buddhist. We have great times and much fun watching football, playing games, going to the movies -- but the plague of awkwardness from difference lingered at all times. When tensions were high, we occassionally exploited our difference to justify our actions.
I called my friend a nigger.
His reaction was heart-breaking and I could not repair the damage I had done -- I had recalled half a century of slavery and discrimination for him. To this day, I regret my words whole-heartedly because he was and is one of my best friends, though I have lost contact with him. Last summer, on a Sunday afternoon my parents and I were leaving from a steakhouse after an interesting meal and my friend spotted us from his car, turned around, parked, got out, and gave my family and I each huge hugs. He was a lot taller than I remembered (and bulkier). To be forgiven for something in which I did not deserve forgiveness and to be loved despite my faults was very humbling for me. He had forgiven me and still considered me a good person and a good friend. Could I do the same if in his situation?
So, who am I?
What do you think?
My identity is not always just my perception of self, but it is a conglomerate of other people's perceptions about me and my reaction to their perceptions of my actions. My actions reflect my inner self or at least they should. If I do not act in accordance with my values then, adopting the notion of Thomas Aquinas, I am committing an evil.
Living in community and in the midst of others is crucial to live, otherwise living is something else entirely. When I make a decision, when I reason things out, I am never doing it alone. My experiences and my relationships and all of what I am (values, virtues, etc) goes into the reasoning process and reaches conclusions based upon these things. Art then is not a one-person activity, but a communal effort. Writing a dissertation or a thesis is a communal activity. Individuality resides in the different experiences of individuals at the root of which is the notion of free will. Though free will is debated, the assumption of the freedom of the will is widely accepted and so here do I make an assumption. Paradoxically, we are individuals and parts of a community living out a linear narrative.
Racism exists; segregation exists; and discrimination exists.
Discrimination based on the color of the skin is, I feel, still my responsibility despite the fact that it was my great, great grandparents that were the discriminating ones. Healing hundreds of years of discrimination does not just end in a few decades with the passage of laws prohibiting segregation. Not to pass the buck, I am discriminating against others -- perhaps outwardly I do not show it, but inwardly I am uncomfortable around those that are different, even if that difference is because of an accent, skin color, or some other feature characteristic of a particular subculture. But I purposefully expose and immerse myself into environments that are multi-cultural, that are different, not because I enjoy awkwardness, but because I strive to be understanding of others, to escape my enculturated fear of difference.
Many of my friends are different -- they are black and hispanic, poor and rich, Jewish and Buddhist. We have great times and much fun watching football, playing games, going to the movies -- but the plague of awkwardness from difference lingered at all times. When tensions were high, we occassionally exploited our difference to justify our actions.
I called my friend a nigger.
His reaction was heart-breaking and I could not repair the damage I had done -- I had recalled half a century of slavery and discrimination for him. To this day, I regret my words whole-heartedly because he was and is one of my best friends, though I have lost contact with him. Last summer, on a Sunday afternoon my parents and I were leaving from a steakhouse after an interesting meal and my friend spotted us from his car, turned around, parked, got out, and gave my family and I each huge hugs. He was a lot taller than I remembered (and bulkier). To be forgiven for something in which I did not deserve forgiveness and to be loved despite my faults was very humbling for me. He had forgiven me and still considered me a good person and a good friend. Could I do the same if in his situation?
So, who am I?
What do you think?
My identity is not always just my perception of self, but it is a conglomerate of other people's perceptions about me and my reaction to their perceptions of my actions. My actions reflect my inner self or at least they should. If I do not act in accordance with my values then, adopting the notion of Thomas Aquinas, I am committing an evil.
Living in community and in the midst of others is crucial to live, otherwise living is something else entirely. When I make a decision, when I reason things out, I am never doing it alone. My experiences and my relationships and all of what I am (values, virtues, etc) goes into the reasoning process and reaches conclusions based upon these things. Art then is not a one-person activity, but a communal effort. Writing a dissertation or a thesis is a communal activity. Individuality resides in the different experiences of individuals at the root of which is the notion of free will. Though free will is debated, the assumption of the freedom of the will is widely accepted and so here do I make an assumption. Paradoxically, we are individuals and parts of a community living out a linear narrative.
posted by Timcom at 11:59 AM
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